


[come and go / waterwheel / seasons change, but these feelings remain the same]

by mydearconfidant



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Japanese Mythology & Folklore, M/M, Minor Character Death, ft. some minor sakusibs cameos, komoris here too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:46:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28161879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydearconfidant/pseuds/mydearconfidant
Summary: There are many stories of the unfathomable deities and the seasons.One such tale is about how Sakusa Kiyoomi and Miya Atsumu have come to bring spring back to the world.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18
Collections: Cel's Sakuatsu Secret Santa





	[come and go / waterwheel / seasons change, but these feelings remain the same]

**Author's Note:**

  * For [asphodellae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/asphodellae/gifts).



> Hi! I'm Amy, your secret santa!
> 
> I took your prompt of winter + light touches + sharing clothes and ran wild with it hehe.
> 
> This is part of my royalty/deities/soulmate/reincarnation/historical fantasy/ au! :0
> 
> For context, this takes place in a fantasy country that's a mash up of Japan and China. I made Omi and Tsumu the first emperors of this nation. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy! Happy holidays!
> 
> thank you sextile and HalQuin for helping beta this piece :0
> 
> CW: non graphic mentions of death and blood.

“Alright, hold on. You can’t walk on water, so don’t let go, ok?”

Miya Atsumu, kami of the coming fall, grasps Sakusa Kiyoomi’s hands lightly. Sakusa Kiyoomi, kami of the coming spring, led Atsumu out to one of the frozen lakes that he melts every March. 

The rites of spring demand at least two people to wake the sleeping waters with a sacred dance. Kiyoomi’s cousin and sisters just happened to be busy this year. And Atsumu just happened to be free. A coincidence, maybe. 

(Or not, if you look at the trees behind the two kami. Wingmen no. 1-3 Komori Motoya, Sakusa Kairi, and Sakusa Haruka are perched on the branches.)  
Motoya’s a betting man and an ardent Clowning On Kiyoomi enthusiast. “If they smooch, you gotta draw me three more dragons! ”

Sakusa Haruka, fellow Clowning on Kiyoomi enthusiast swiftly agrees. “Absolutely! No family discounts on art though- commissions are commissions! ” 

Motoya lifts one hand towards his forehead in mock despair. “No! Businesswoman Haruka cleans out my coffers one again! But my little lightning dragon needs more friends, so I’ll allow this cruel mistress to take her coin,”

Sakusa Kairi crinkles up her nose, and giggles behind her right sleeve.  
“Ah, no matter how big you two get, you’ll always be my favorite comedy act,”

Back at the lake, Atsumu retorts “Ey, I’m not that stupid! You’ve come to show me the steps of your spring ritual, yeah? Can’t be that hard!”

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes, but can’t disagree with Atsumu. It is actually pretty simple. 

First, they bow deeply until their backs are perpendicular to the ice, clap twice, then bow deeply once again. 

Then one partner takes the soul strings of the other, break the ice by running in a few circles, and clasp hands at the end. 

For someone who usually dons a hakama with blazing autumn pride, Atsumu looks good in Sakusa’s family colors- a gradient of deep emerald fading into the light tones of grassy meadow sleeves, with traces of black and gold at the tips. 

Autumn and spring. Dark and light. Summer and winter. Some things fit together, like the weight of Atsumu’s hands in Kiyoomi’s. 

After all, their hands trace over their matching battle scars- visible and invisible. 

Miya Atsumu is a fighter- frontline offense, death staring you in the face. Holy fire devastating the ground for miles. 

“To cinders with them!”

Sakusa Kiyoomi is a defender: the fortress on the mountaintop, the tailwind pushing the infantry guarding the mountain base forward. 

“Soldiers, be ever ready,”

The ardent crimson sword and the unbreakable emerald shield. 

Miya Atsumu is like a puzzle Sakusa Kiyoomi didn’t know he needed to solve until he connected the pieces of every silent “I’m here to stay”, every time Atsumu stuck by him, and every time Kiyoomi picked Atsumu up in turn.

After eons, Kiyoomi finally saw the whole picture: eternal devotion.

Time and time again. They’re ripped from each other, only to meet again, only to have fate come in between them once again, meet again, and so it goes.

“I’ll come back, I swear!” rasps Atsumu, coughing out his last breath on desecrated ground. 

When Kiyoomi surrendered his time to the heavens, he disappeared in a shaft of moonlight with nothing but a “Wait for me.” 

Tragedy, bravery, sacrifice, loyalty, gratitude.

Birth and death. Rebirth and reunion. 

The poets say that these two are too stubborn to die for good. Come fire, come frost, they come back alive without fail.

This year, they can be together again. Who knows for how long the heavens will allow them to stay with each other this time? But they’re here together now. And that’s enough.

Every time they meet, it’s hello and goodbye in the same breath. 

“It’s nice to meet you again.” (I’ll hold on as long as I can, until I have to let go.) 

Wherever one of them goes, the other will follow: whether it’s crawling, running, flying. Come hellfire or high water- summer will follow spring and then make way for autumn. The new sunlight of the budding spring gives way to high summer melting our bones, then the fierce glare dies down to a homier, temperate autumn. 

Legends linger, myths whisper, and stories are told over and over. 

With regards to soulmates, there are many tales.

Some people pass on the stories of Jian birds- birds that are forever searching for their mate. People say that Jian birds are half formed, with only part of the features of a full bird.

Some say that some of the strongest Jian birds are two different birds- despite petty clashes, they learn to beat their wings in harmony.

Atsumu and Kiyoomi are not two of a kind- they’re more comparable to oil and water or fire and ice. Disparate elements that initially reject each other and have to compromise to make something together. Fighting, putting broken pieces back together, misunderstandings, and reconciliation. 

Feathers drift, pulled apart by little winds until they land in meadows, streams, brooks, and oceans. Feathers drift from two types of similar birds, the phoenix and the feng huang- two similar but different fire birds.

The western phoenix and the eastern feng huang have been syncretised together to mean something new.  
While the feng huang is a beautiful symbol of good luck, the western one symbolizes rebirth.

Together, this reads as fortunate reincarnation. “I’m lucky that I will always be able to find you.”

Each one a testimony to the path of a bygone era, a past life. 

Another set of stories, about a different kind of flight. 

The philosopher Zhuang Zi once woke up from a dream and asked if he was the butterfly, or if the butterfly was dreaming of him.

People also speak of butterflies that fly together only in a dream. They pay tribute to the butterfly lovers Liang and Zhu- doomed in life, transformed, and reunited.

If this same butterfly evolves over the eons, then is it still the same? Is this person still the same? Is this love still the same? 

They have not been literal butterflies, per se.

But there have been times when one had to go where the other couldn’t follow- The other partner could only fly with them in a dream.

Atsumu bled out on the battlefield, choking out “I’ll come back! I swear!”

Kiyoomi surrendered his time to the heavens, disappearing in a shaft of moonlight with nothing but a “Wait for me,”

They take turns tipping the hourglass of time, sand running from one set of hands to another. From the river stream of eras, the stubborn lotus is born from the murky depths. 

Perennial bloom adamantly returns year after year.

People continue spinning their tales- like fine, strong, and ageless thread. People talk of heroes, people talk of demons, people talk of emperors.

When people speak of emperors, they speak of dragons.

Two dragons perpetually circling each other in near and distant skies- one obsidian new moon with growing silver light playing off crescent scales of emerald and the other a crimson gold firecracker demanding the full attention of the starry night.

They call snakes “little dragons”. It is only through great effort, shedding skin after skin, until they become full fledged rulers of the skies. 

They say that the Verdant Emperor and the Flame Emperor founded this land long ago, descending from the heavens to provide their divine guidance to people near and far.

Some say that the Verdant Emperor scowled often and rejected gifts of visiting dignitaries. 

“Take it away, it’s probably poisoned,” Kiyoomi eyes the batch of presents with suspicion. 

Some say that the Flame Emperor had a childish laugh and a fox grin. 

Atsumu firmly grasps Kiyoomi’s shoulder, chuckling ,“Omi! No need to be so suspicious. The shamans said it was fine, so you’ll live,”

“Besides.” Pupils dilate to cat-like slits.

“I’d know if there’s something that shouldn’t be there,”

Storytellers whisper that Emperor Kiyoomi and Emperor Atsumu are dragons in human form and that they were the first to bring fire, frost, rain, and flowers to this land.

But as stories are told, retold, left to fade in mist and cobbled back together by historians of all manners to the point where people are uncertain of what really happened. 

Throughout all the iterations, some themes ring true through all these adaptations:

“Love”. “Peace of mind.” Eternally yours, I will always love you, you make me strong at heart.

It’s a duet. A love poem in the form of two people. A pair of birds flying together, two dream time butterflies fluttering out of harm’s reach. A pair of dragons defending their cherished lands with their waking and dying breath.

Everything, or maybe none of those things. Stories are rewritten, after all. They fade into forgetful mist until someone pieces them together.  
People fade unless they’re remembered. No matter how far someone’s sunk in oblivion, if there’s at least one person that calls out to them, they will come back.

Hide and seek romance.

It’s searching through the lost and found treasure chest of memories: of people, their loved ones, and the cruel, gentle winds of fate that tear and mend in turn. 

Time isn't linear. It's more like an infinite nightmare of spiral staircases that go nowhere and everywhere. 

In this constant cycle of life and rebirth, where exactly are you going? The pessimists don't want to keep climbing, and the optimists think that salvation lies at the very top. 

So what do you do when two people happen to run into each other time and time again in a big game of celestial hide and seek on these staircases? 

Whether this is friendship or romance doesn't matter. If they make each other happy and encourage each other to be better people, that's good enough.

More than good enough.

“Come find me, no matter the time and place. Take me home to you” 

Kiyoomi and Atsumu run around, turning the spokes of the infinite waterwheel of springtime until it breaks the waters free again.

New life, same love.

They clasp their hands, ending one chapter of this storybook to begin another.


End file.
